


Exposing Priorities

by bookaddled



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Fighting, First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Job, M/M, PWP (mostly), wall sex (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1335190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookaddled/pseuds/bookaddled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tough case brings some hidden feelings to light.</p><p>  <em> An eerie quiet descended as they stared each other down, John’s chest heaving in angry breaths. Sherlock searched John’s eyes, and what he saw there nearly took his breath away. Suddenly, everything made sense-- John’s discomfort at the crime scenes, his odd behavior around the flat since the case had started, his irrational anger now.</em><br/>  <em></em><br/><b>John has feelings for me. John is attracted to me. John was terrified he was going to lose me.</b><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposing Priorities

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic is a thank you present for the marvelous [Madi](http://shezziarty.tumblr.com) for designing a gorgeous theme for my [Tumblr](http://bookaddled.tumblr.com). Everyone go check it out, and enjoy this little bit of fluff.
> 
> Also, tons of thanks to [Amanda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinrose) for being an amazing friend and betaing this for me! (Go check out her fics! They are brilliant!)

John stormed up the steps to 221B, throwing open the door to the sitting room so hard that it bounced off the wall. He strode into the room, face bright red from holding in his rage, his fists clenching and unclenching with the effort of not punching the closest object to him. Once he made it to the center of the room, he did an about-face and waited, silent, for his idiot of a flatmate to enter the room.

John didn’t have to wait too long, as Sherlock came stomping into the room soon after, slamming the door shut behind him. He stood for a minute by the door, back ramrod straight, and glared down at John.

“You utter ass!” John erupted. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Well, obviously, John, I was solving the case and catching a serial killer. ” Sherlock drawled in exasperation, rolling his eyes as his posture sagged.

“By getting yourself killed?!” John shouted back. “Because that is very nearly what happened!”

“Oh, please, John. I had everything under control,” Sherlock sneered.

“Right, right. Everything was absolutely ‘under control’,” John made air quotations with his hands as his words dripped with sarcasm. “That’s why when I finally caught up to you, that poor, insane woman had a gun pointed at you, because everything was UNDER CONTROL!” John screamed the last two words, kicking the coffee table to punctuate his outburst.

It had been a long two weeks. They had been chasing a serial killer who had been targeting men that looked almost exactly like Sherlock. Every crime scene they had gone to, John had flashed back to seeing Sherlock’s body bloody and broken on the sidewalk outside St. Bart’s. Every time he had to examine a body, he had experienced a strange sensation, like being punched in the gut. John didn’t enjoy the feeling, and he tried not to wonder about what it meant.

And then today happened. Sherlock had been pacing around the flat, rapidly going over every detail of the case. Looking over their case wall, John had mentioned that the killer must be small in relation to the victims, based on the trajectory angle of the bullet wounds, which caused Sherlock to have an epiphany. That offhand comment had led him to put all of the other pieces of the puzzle together and realize that the killer was an old potential client, one that Sherlock had turned down because he had considered the case too boring. The woman had been desperate, and Sherlock’s refusal must have broken her last tether to reality. In her insanity, she had decided to get her revenge, and Sherlock’s attention, by killing men that looked like Sherlock.

Once he had realized who the killer was, he went running off after the poor woman without telling John anything. John had known that something was up, but Sherlock had left no clues as to what he had figured out or where he had gone. John, getting desperate, had called Mycroft to track Sherlock’s phone in order to find him. John had reached the scene before Lestrade. Unable to wait, he had barged into the room, adrenaline pumping through his system and gun in hand, to find the poor woman -- clearly deranged -- pointing a gun at Sherlock’s heart and screaming about how everything was his fault. The sight had caused John’s stomach to drop out and his chest to constrict, as fear coursed through his veins.

John had somehow kept the woman talking, keeping her distracted long enough for Lestrade and his team to get there and take over the situation. Once the woman was unarmed and in custody, relief had flooded through John. While sitting through Lestrade’s questions as they gave their statements, the heady combination of adrenaline and relief had slowly leaked out of him, only to be replaced with boiling rage. By the time Lestrade released them, John couldn’t even look at Sherlock. He had stalked off to find a cab, not caring if Sherlock was following him or not.

The cab ride home had been a silent one. He could feel Sherlock getting more and more tense the closer they got to Baker Street. John knew that it was because Sherlock could sense his anger, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. It had taken everything he had not to start screaming at Sherlock before they got home.

Once they had finally arrived at Baker Street, John had jumped out of the cab, leaving Sherlock to pay for once, and had stormed up to their flat.

* * *

Sherlock flinched when John kicked their coffee table, realizing that John’s anger had reached whole new levels. He had felt John’s ire rolling off of him in waves, polluting the air in the cab, nearly suffocating him. Sherlock had already not been in the best of moods, missing his usual post-case high, and the cab ride only blackened his mood further.

This case had not been quite as much fun as Sherlock had originally hoped it would be. Normally, the promise of a serial killer and a good hunt was like Christmas for Sherlock, but his joy had faded quickly with each passing victim. Sherlock didn’t want to dwell on the uncomfortable emotions that arose every time he’d examined a body that looked remarkably like him.

Sherlock had been close to despairing that he would never figure out this case, when he had suddenly realized who the killer was, and that it was all his fault. Well, not really his fault. He didn’t force the woman to kill those men, but he did have a hand in sending her over the edge. That knowledge left Sherlock with a bitter taste in his mouth and an uncomfortable pit in his stomach.

He had rushed out of the flat as fast as he could, forgetting to tell John what he had deduced in his desire to stop the killer before she had a chance to strike again.

And now John was irrationally angry, and Sherlock couldn’t figure out why. Sherlock hated not knowing something; his frustration over his lack of understanding, coupled with John’s outburst, finally snapped something within Sherlock.

“Yes, under control!” Sherlock yelled back. “She was too emotionally compromised. I could have easily unarmed her if I felt like the situation had gotten out of hand.”

“OUT OF HAND? Sherlock, the situation was out of hand when I got there! Just when were you going to disarm her? And how? What if I hadn’t shown up?”

“Oh please, I knew that you would show up,” Sherlock said offhandedly, suddenly exhausted and tired of this row. He turned to go into the kitchen, but was immediately stopped by a vice-like grip and whipped around to find John mere inches from his face. Anger spiked in Sherlock at being man-handled like a child.

He opened his mouth to yell at John for grabbing him, but the words died when he looked into John’s eyes.

“You didn’t tell me where you were going or leave me any clues to figure it out!” John spat in his face. “I had to call Mycroft to track you down. You could have fucking died, Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s anger was gone in an instant at John’s exclamation. An eerie quiet descended as they stared each other down, John’s chest heaving in angry breaths. Sherlock searched John’s eyes, and what he saw there nearly took his breath away. Suddenly, everything made sense-- John’s discomfort at the crime scenes, his odd behavior around the flat since the case had started, his irrational anger now.

John has feelings for me. John is attracted to me. John was terrified he was going to lose me.

This realization caused something warm and bright to burst in his chest. Sherlock was suddenly filled with… Happiness? Joy? Sherlock had dreamed and hoped that John might one day return his feelings, but he had never truly allowed himself to hope.

John still glared at Sherlock, but the heat in his eyes slowly changed from anger to something far more enjoyable. John deliberately licked his lips, and all of the warmth in Sherlock’s chest rushed to pool in his belly. Arousal flared through him, and without thinking at all, Sherlock closed the distance between them and leaned down to claim John’s lips.

* * *

At the first touch of Sherlock’s lips on his, all the muscles in John’s body tensed in shock. He had dreamed of this, imagined it over and over -- though he would never admit to that out loud -- and now it was actually happening. Sherlock Holmes was actually kissing him.

Sherlock’s lips were soft yet insistent against John’s, and then they suddenly weren’t there. Sherlock stepped back, looking at him tentatively. Reeling momentarily, John realized that he had not kissed Sherlock back, and Sherlock was worried that he had done something wrong.

John surged forward and grabbed the back of Sherlock’s head, bringing his lips up to Sherlock’s. He ran his tongue across Sherlock’s lips, begging for access. Sherlock parted his lips with a moan, and John dipped his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, tasting cigarettes, tea, and Sherlock. He poured the hurt, pain, and anger of the past two weeks -- hell, the last few years -- into the kiss.

Frenzied hands started peeling off each other’s coats, throwing them to the side. John’s arms went round Sherlock’s shoulders, pressing that tall, slender body against his. Sherlock’s hands grabbed John’s waist, pulling their pelvises together insistently. John moaned into Sherlock’s mouth as he felt Sherlock’s erection against his hip. He felt Sherlock’s lips curl into a smirk. John leaned up on tip-toe to deepen the kiss, determined to wipe that smirk of Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock’s hands slid from John’s waist down to his arse, his hands urgent and insistent, pulling John up against him. Suddenly, John felt Sherlock picking him up, and he instinctively wrapped his legs around Sherlock. In this position, their erections pushed together, but there was not enough friction. John made a sound of frustration, and Sherlock, getting the hint, walked a few steps and slammed John into the door. Sherlock leaned his body weight against John, rutting against him, grinding their erections together and seeking the friction they both desired. John pulled Sherlock’s shirt from his trousers, desperate to feel his skin. His hand slipped under Sherlock’s shirt and he raked his fingers down Sherlock’s spine.

They eventually came up for air, and Sherlock attacked John’s neck, nipping and kissing with a fervor that made John wonder just how long Sherlock had wanted to do this. John leaned his head back against the door to allow Sherlock more access, and took a deep, shuddering breath. He still could not believe this was happening. His arrogant, obnoxious, incredibly idiotic, mad, gorgeous flatmate currently had him pinned to the door to their flat and was grinding against him as he left marks all down John’s neck. The thought made John’s cock twitch, and with a growl, he grabbed Sherlock’s head and brought Sherlock’s lips back to his.

John kissed Sherlock until they were both nearly breathless again. He pulled back and looked into Sherlock’s heavy-lidded eyes, unwrapped his legs, and slid down until his feet were back on the floor.

“Bedroom. Now.”

* * *

A thrill ran up Sherlock’s spine. John was using his “captain” voice. Slightly weak in the knees, Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and practically dragged him to the bedroom.

Once in the bedroom, though, Sherlock found himself hesitating. The weight of everything -- what they were doing, what it would mean, how things would change -- settled on Sherlock’s shoulders, causing him to still. He gazed into John’s eyes, seeing the same trepidation and caution that he felt, but also the same desire, the same yearning to have and consume.

And Sherlock wanted to consume John. He wanted it so desperately, had wanted it for quite a while now. He felt that if it was taken from him now, he would never recover from the loss. Allowing himself to take a gamble for once in his life, he let down his guard, and allowed what he was feeling to show through: his want, his desire, his longing, and his love.

John gasped slightly and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, his other hand reaching up and cupping Sherlock’s cheek, idly running his thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone. John’s eyes were full of something Sherlock had never seen before. He was still marveling over it when John pulled him down for a quick kiss and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Sherlock watched in wonder as John slowly undid each button, placing a kiss on the newly exposed skin each time. He slowly pushed the shirt off of Sherlock’s shoulders one at a time, kissing each shoulder when it was visible, running his fingers lightly over Sherlock’s skin. John looked back up into Sherlock’s eyes, and with a jolt, he realized that John was worshiping his body with his hands and mouth.

Sherlock pulled off John’s jumper, quickly making work of John’s buttons in his impatience to get to John’s skin. He pushed the shirt off John’s shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor, and sucked in a breath. He tentatively ran his fingers over John’s left shoulder, feeling the mottled scar tissue beneath his fingers. Softly, slowly, he bent down and kissed the scar, silently thanking it for bringing John to him.

He straightened back up to find John staring at him with eyes overflowing with emotion. He gently grabbed John’s face and bent down to kiss him.

This kiss was different from the one in the sitting room -- it was more languid and sensual and laden with something bigger. They allowed the heat between them to slowly intensify as their tongues twisted lazily in each other’s mouths.

He sucked on John’s lower lip, biting it, and John growled as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly he needed more, needed to feel John, needed to taste him.

Sherlock dropped to his knees and began fumbling with John’s belt. He unbuttoned John’s trousers, then slowly pulled down both his trousers and his pants. John’s erect penis sprung free from its confines, and stood proudly for his examination. He took a moment to admire it, before reaching out and grasping John’s cock at the base. He leaned forward and licked up the underside of John’s erection, ending at the bead of moisture budding at the tip.

John’s head fell back and, with a groan, he grabbed two handfuls of Sherlock’s curls. “Oh god, Sherlock…”

Spurred forward by John saying his name like that, Sherlock looked up at John through his eyelashes and engulfed John with his mouth, taking him deep into his throat and swallowing.

“Holy fuck.. Jesus christ…” Expletives fell from John’s lips as Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and began sucking John’s cock as hard as he could, grasping John’s hips as his head bobbed back and forth.

John’s legs began to tremble beneath Sherlock’s fingers. Just as he thought John must be getting close, John tugged on his hair, pulling him off his cock. Sherlock whined in protest, causing John to chuckle.

“Wait, Sherlock, I don’t want to come like this,” John said breathlessly, taking deep, gasping breaths. John pulled him up off the ground, then grabbed his face and kissed him deeply.

“Not that that wouldn’t be an excellent way to come,” John said, as he traced a finger across Sherlock’s lips. “My god, your lips are pornagraphic. Your mouth shouldn’t be legal. But I want more, so much more. I need to feel you.”

John growled the last words, and Sherlock looked down to see the heat in John’s eyes. John attacked him, kissing him like he was trying to devour Sherlock, tearing off Sherlock’s trousers and pushing him back onto the bed.

* * *

John kicked off his own trousers and pants, which had pooled around his ankles, as he crawled on top of Sherlock. His hands ran all over Sherlock, wanting to feel and touch as much of him as possible, all the while kissing Sherlock as if he was suffocating and Sherlock was oxygen.

John had nearly lost it when Sherlock had dropped to his knees. When he wrapped those gorgeous lips around his cock, it took everything John had not to come right then. He had never seen anything as sexy as Sherlock looking up at him with his cock in his mouth. It had awoken something incredibly primal in John, and he suddenly felt an insatiable need to possess Sherlock.

With a gasp, John pulled away from Sherlock, sitting back to catch his breath and admire the long, lanky body before him. Sherlock was all limbs and alabaster skin -- his lips were red and swollen, his eyes nearly black with desire, and his hair was deliciously rumpled. He already looked thoroughly debauched, and he was spread out all for John.

“My god, you are gorgeous,” John breathed. He bent forward forward and took a nipple into his mouth, teasing it with tongue before nipping at it with his teeth. Sherlock sucked in air and arched his back underneath him.

John chuckled to himself, sitting back again and turning his attention to Sherlock’s straining erection. He rubbed his thumb over the moist spot on Sherlock’s pants,and Sherlock’s hips bucked up in response to John’s light touch. John slipped his fingers over the waistband and reverently pulled down Sherlock’s pants, feeling as if he was unwrapping a much-anticipated Christmas present.

Sherlock’s cock laid upon his stomach, long and pale, just like Sherlock. John pressed light, chaste kisses up one long, white thigh to his hip before he proceeded to kiss up Sherlock’s other thigh.

“John, please…” Sherlock pleaded as he arched his hips towards John’s mouth.

Sherlock’s plea sent a shiver down John’s spine and straight to his cock. He finally grabbed Sherlock’s erection and gently kissed the head, flicking his tongue over the leaking tip, before swirling his tongue around. He pumped his fist up and down, marvelling at the effect his hand was having on Sherlock.

Sherlock’s head was thrown back and all sorts of delicious groans were escaping those gorgeous lips. He was completely undone and it was all John’s doing. That knowledge nearly sent John over the edge, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. He crawled back up on top of Sherlock, settling between Sherlock’s thighs. John gasped as their erections rubbed against each other, another shiver of desire running through him. He claimed Sherlock’s mouth again, plunging his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth in rhythm with his hips as he and Sherlock both sought more friction. Sherlock’s hands ran up and down John’s back, fingernails digging in as his hips rutted against John.

“John, more. I need more…”

“Shhh, I know.”

Propping himself up on his right elbow, John reached down between them and grabbed both of their cocks in his left hand, fisting up and down both of their lengths. The sensation caused stars to burst in his eyes, and he momentarily couldn’t breathe..

“Sherlock… god, I’m close…”

“Yes, yes, yes….”

“Come with me, Sherlock. I want to see you come…”

“John!” Sherlock’s eyes flew wide as he gasped John’s name, and he arched up as he spilled out over his belly and John’s hand. The sight was all John needed, and suddenly he was falling as well, his orgasm ripping through him as he yelled Sherlock’s name over and over again.

When he came down, he collapsed on top of Sherlock, not caring that his belly was now covered in both of their cum. He nuzzled Sherlock’s neck, burying his nose in its crook, and pressed kisses into Sherlock’s collarbone. Warmth flooded through John as Sherlock carded his fingers through John’s hair, humming in contentment.

Sherlock’s deep voice rumbled beneath him. “Well that was…” He seemed uncertain how to finish the sentence.

“Extraordinary,” John finished for Sherlock, looking up at him and placing a swift kiss on his lips. “Absolutely extraordinary.”

The worry left Sherlock’s eyes as a smile broke out on his face.

“Maybe I should run off without you and almost get killed more often, if this is the result,” Sherlock said, a playful smile on his lips.

“I’m glad you are now admitting that you didn’t have everything under control. And don’t you even think about running off without me again. I’m still mad at you for that.” John nuzzled Sherlock’s neck again, before he stilled again. “When I got there, and that woman had her gun pointed at you, all I kept thinking about was how I couldn’t lose you. Not again.”

Sherlock sighed. “I’m very sorry, John.”

John looked back up at Sherlock, directly into those verdigris eyes that he loved so much.  He could see remorse and guilt in those beautiful eyes, but he needed more reassurance.

“Promise me that you won’t run off like that again.”

Sherlock sighed again, running his fingers through John’s hair. “I can’t promise that.” John’s heart twinged in disappointment, and it much have shown in his eyes, because Sherlock instantly looked contrite. Sherlock placed a swift kiss against his forehead. “But I will certainly endeavor to try.”

John nodded, not exactly satisfied, but he knew that was the best he could hope for from Sherlock.

John shifted to get more comfortable, and remembered they were both still sticky. He reached down to grab one of their shirts and wiped them both up as best as he could. He knew that there would still be a mess to clean up tomorrow, but at that moment, he could care less. He snuggled back up next to Sherlock, and began to drift off.

He was nearly asleep when Sherlock pressed his lips into John’s hair and whispered, barely loud enough to hear at all, “I love you, John Watson.”

John smiled into Sherlock’s neck, pressing a soft kiss there. He whispered back, his lips brushing against Sherlock’s skin, “I love you, too, Sherlock Holmes.”

 


End file.
